


Deepest Waters

by Tak138



Series: Commissions [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Matriarchy, Royalty, Spanking, Submissive Male
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/pseuds/Tak138
Summary: Gwen leaves Soren for a family emergency. As time stretches on, he begins to wonder if she'll ever be coming back.
Series: Commissions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1287251
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Deepest Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Saphemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphemme/pseuds/Saphemme)
> 
> This was a commission for Sanguia

The room was dark, quiet. The sun had only begun to rise, and yet Soren was wide awake. He laid on his back, staring at the velvet canopy of his bed, at its threads and frayed edges. He had been awake for hours now. Thrown from sleep by the strike of a nightmare, he had woke in a cold sweat, gasping, weeping. His bed was empty. The door off to the left, leading to Gwen’s quarters, was shut tight. The room beyond, empty. It had been for three weeks. 

A family emergency, she’d said. She didn’t know when she would be back. And his heart had been hollow since the day she left. 

There was a ring on his finger. It was small, a simple tapered brass band, with Gwen’s family crest stamped on the inside of its thickest part. They weren’t wed, or even betrothed. She had called it a promise ring, and wore one of her own. He fiddled with it now, twisting it, running his finger along the edge. He wished she had just proposed. His mother didn’t care, she had only snorted at the request, and left Gwen with no further instructions than _keep him out of trouble._ And yet, she hadn’t proposed. 

She wasn’t ready, she said. She loved him, she said. 

Now, in the darkness of his thoughts and with the phantom pain of a manacle around his throat, he wondered if she was just too kind. Too sweet, too lovely, to tell him she wanted someone better. She owed him nothing. There was no obligation in a promise, not beyond one’s own heart.

Soren had to swallow, blink rapidly, to keep the tears at bay. He’d wept so much in these last few weeks, he shouldn’t have any tears left. But Saints, he _missed_ her. And he was petrified he was never going to see her again. Her lips had been warm against his, her grip fierce, her eyes determined.

_“I will see you soon_ , _”_ she’d murmured, and Soren had nodded, tears in his eyes.

He wanted to believe her.

But he didn’t.

At his side, Ludwig snored softly, his white fur soft and plush under Soren’s touch. Oblivious, or just uncaring. He wished he could be so lucky.

He laid there for a long time. Until the sun sat halfway to noon, and Ludwig was whining to go out. With his bones cracking and his muscles aching, Soren slid out of bed. Ludwig pranced in circles around him, jumping from the bed to the ottoman at its foot, back and forth, before skidding to a halt at the door to the balcony. Soren yawned, pulls Gwen's jacket closer around his shoulders, and opened the door for his dog. 

The air was crisp, hissing through the potted trees where Ludwig did his business. The balcony was separate from the others on this side of the palace, though they were close enough that he acknowledged the guards with a small dip of his head. They all bowed, and pretended not to watch him. 

They wouldn't have to, if Gwen was here. 

With a quiet sigh, Soren peered over the balcony's railing, at the courtyard below. There were guards there as well, marching in strict lines. Gwen had been promoted to Captain of the Guard some weeks ago. It kept her away more, but he didn't quite mind. He felt no less safe, considering she was behind every guard he came across. It made up for not seeing her every second of every day. Every guard on his path, every guard on the balconies, in the courtyard, even hidden on the roof, were there by her hand.

He wonders what changes, if any, she’d made. He had no idea what goes into guard training, the etiquette. Only knew familiar faces, and that was purely out of necessity. After his tryst with a stable girl, his mother had gone out of her way to keep him away from women en masse. Until Gwen. She'd been meant to keep him on the straight and narrow. A knight with multiple honors, and good patronage. Young but biddable, with nothing but glowing marks. He doubted his mother expected them to end up entwined as they were. 

Not that Gwen had done anything to sully her reputation. She had the full blessings of the crown to marry him, and she still hadn't bedded him.

Running his hands through his hair, Soren loosed a heavy breath. It felt thin, greasy. When was the last time he'd bathed? Saints, how pathetic was he? What if Gwen did come home soon? All it would do was prove to her that he wasn't worth her time. 

And yet… the thought of bathing, of practicing his flute, of doing anything other than hiding in his bed, made him nauseous.

With a whistle, he summoned Ludwig inside, only to cringe against the doorway at the sight of a person standing before his bed. It was only a serving boy, who flinched just the same as he blurted, "I beg your forgiveness, your Highness. Her Majesty sent me for you."

Soren swallowed a heaving breath, pressing a hand to his chest as though that would quell his hammering heart. "Couldn't you have knocked?" He bit out. 

The servant ducked his head, "I-I tried. Your Highness. Her Majesty told me to enter even if you did not reply. She demands to see you in her study at once."

"At once," he grumbled under his breath, and swallowed hard, "Fine. Tell her I'll be there soon." 

"I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness, but she—she said at once," insisted the servant. 

Unable to help himself, Soren groaned. He really, really wasn't in the mood to hear what his mother had to say. There would surely be no end to her scolding once she saw him in this state. But he knew better than to keep her waiting. So Soren just pulled on a proper shirt, swept his hair out of his face with a brass clip, and followed the servant to his mother's study. 

He knocked a few times, his hand so small against the towering oak door. It was thick, maybe thicker than he was. Meant to protect the queen and her family in the event of an attack. If they were lucky, that meant Soren and his father as well as the queen and her heir. 

But probably not. 

The door was opened by one of his mother’s newest concubine, a man just a few years older than Soren himself. He bows, murmuring, “Your Highness,” as Soren stepped in, and slipped out behind him. 

“Mother,” Soren whispered, his eyes on the floor. His heart hammered in his chest, his fingers trembling at his sides. His mother had never hit him, considering discipline beneath her, but the order had always come from her mouth. As well as any scornful remark about his behavior, his appearance, his shame. She was a tall woman, even seated behind her desk, with hair like his own but infinitely prettier, always worn in a crown on her head. Her eyes were different, black like an endless sea. He would never admit to hating her eyes, but he was grateful Gwen’s were light.

He felt her eyes roam over him, felt her look of displeasure. Except, when he looked up, her face was soft. Concerned. It threw him off balance. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked, "Have you been eating at all?" 

Averting his eyes, Sorem shuffled from foot to foot. "Some," he murmurs.

Every time she summoned him, he expected her to make some remark about his appearance. A man is always expected to look _nice_ . Freshly bathed, in appropriate clothes, with a perfect face and lovely hair. Not gaunt and sickly and _tired._

She beckoned him close, and Soren had to swallow before he managed to step forward. His mother grabbed him by the hand. "She'll come back."

"Of course," he whispered. He would never dare imply Gwen was dishonorable. 

Even though he feared his mother might be wrong. 

His mother gave him a tight lipped smile, "You need to get out, Love."

"Yes Mother," he said, eyes on the desk. 

"Soren, look at me." 

He obeyed without hesitation, his heart skipping a beat. Still, she didn’t look angry, or displeased. Just… concerned. It filled him with unease. He could count on two hands the number of times his mother had been sweet to him, at least since losing his virtue. 

She cracked a wry grin, "You're nervous." 

"Yes Mother," he swallowed. 

"Why?"

It was a trap. There was always a trap with her. But he didn’t dare lie, because she never asked a question if she didn’t already know the answer.

Quietly, he admitted, "I-I'm waiting for you to yell at me."

"I considered it," his mother sighed, "But Erlyn convinced me it would only be counter productive." 

Her eyes flash to the door, referencing the young man that stepped out. Soren flushes, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his mother was bedding a man less than half her age.

Mother squeezed his hand again, her smile going soft once more. "I want you to go for a walk, Love." 

He had to resist the urge to look away, shifting on his feet. "You would… let me out?" 

She hadn't allowed him to leave the palace since his rescue some months ago, even with Gwen at his side. 

"Under very heavy guard," she said, "No less than ten women at your side. But yes. Maybe go to the lake, take your mutt with you." 

_You send guards as though you care_ , he thought callously, _you would have let me become a harlot had Gwen not been there._

Still, the thought of breathing some fresh, open air made his heart quicken in a way it hadn’t in awhile. 

"After a proper bath," Mother added, her voice cooling, "And a meal." 

"Yes Mother," he replied, "Of course. May I--?"

He took a step back, and Mother let him go. "Be safe," she called after him, "Do as you're ordered. If I find out you ran off again, you'll regret it." 

He nodded quickly, scraped a half-hearted bow, and hurried off down the corridor before she could rescind her offer. His body still felt heavy, his mind crowded with cobwebs and his heart aching. But these heavy, towering stonewalls had been suffocating. He wouldn't miss an opportunity for some freedom. 

Soren wastes no time scrubbing himself clean, barely taking the time to rinse the soap from his hair before clambering out. 

Every step reminded him that Gwen wasn’t here. The food was bland and tasteless, quiet and unceremonious. But his stomach felt less twisted, and his hands stopped their trembling. He glimpsed himself in the mirror, and avoided it from then on. A bath and a single meal hadn’t done much to improve his appearance. He was still gaunt, having lost a fair amount of weight these past few weeks. His skin was splotchy, his eyes shadowed and weighed down.

He looked like a mess. Actually, he looked like a whore, worn out and used up, a notion that made his skin itch in endless shame. He shoved it from his mind as best he can, and whistled for Ludwig to follow him.

  
  
  


The dog refused to walk more than a few yards from the palace gate, so Soren carried him the rest of the way. Accompanied by his ten guards, they trekked the short distance around the northern district of the city to Lake Alohad. It was small enough that you could see across it, but wide enough that they weren't likely to be disturbed anytime soon. 

As his guards fanned out to secure the area, Soren could only breathe. The sky was ash grey with clouds, the air nipping at his nose and cheeks. But it smelled like pine and water, instead of the stone and dust of the palace. It was infinitely better than the quiet gloom of his bedroom. 

"All clear, your Highness," one of the guards said to him, and Soren nodded. 

Ludwig didn’t go far, always choosing to stay near his side. Soren set himself up on an incline in the bank a little ways down the shore, its sharp overhang looking down into the water below. Elsewhere the ground had eroded, so he sat at its highest point. It was a little deeper here, probably enough to properly swim if he dove in. Still, it was clear up until about halfway down, where visibility faded. There were a few blue-scaled fish swimming about, the tops of weeds swaying with the current. 

He sat with his legs dangling over the edge, kicking away at some loose dirt, holding Ludwig in his lap. Across the way, he could see a fisherwoman in her little boat. 

Ludwig yapped, rolling over to show his belly. Soren smiled softly and gave him a pat.

"You're a good boy," he whispered, "Yeah? Are you a good boy?"

He barked again, as if to say _yes, I am a good boy!_ So Soren scratched behind his ears. 

But the words _good boy_ had left him hollow, and sad. It had been ages since anyone said that to him. It was always Gwen. 

"You're a pathetic thing, aren't you?" Soren grumbled to himself. Couldn’t even go two minutes without thinking of her. 

His tutors had always told him that the best husband always had his wife on his mind. Considering her wants, needs, wishes. They weren’t married, and Soren was pretty sure that didn’t extend to self loathing. He fiddled with his ring— _her ring_ —some more, worrying at his lip until he tasted blood. 

A few of his guards were speaking amongst themselves. At least, the two on the shore were. A third had joined them. He didn’t know where the rest went, but they were nearby. Probably ridiculously close, and he was just too stupid to notice. 

He sat there for a very long time. Until the cold of the earth had seeped through the fabric of his pants, his toes wet from skimming the water. Ludwig has fallen asleep in his lap, snoring softly. Bundling the dog in his arms, Soren rose to his feet. His joints cracked, his legs somewhat numb and his backside frozen. 

Peering over the lake one last time, Soren tried not to consider the next time he would be allowed to see it. This was a mercy, something his mother wasn’t very good at. 

Back to stone walls and dark rooms. 

"Your Highness!" One of the guards called from behind, and he turned towards the voice. 

But then the ground was crumbling beneath him, the dirt giving way. He barely had enough time to yell before the water swallowed him. The cold hit him like a blow to the stomach, making him gasp, making bitter cold water scorch through his lungs. He jerked as his feet touched the ground, trying to push himself up. His body wouldn't move, won't move, won't _move._ His chest burned, his lungs on fire—black spots danced in his eyes, his head going foggy, sluggish, spinning around and around.

There was a rush of sound past his ears, bubbles, hands on on him, yanking him up so hard his vision blurred. 

And then there was air. Soren hacked, vomiting water onto the sand. 

Above him, someone shouted, "The dog!" and there was another splash. 

He laid there, shivering, gasping, tears burning through his eyes. A heavy coat was thrown over him, a coat he knew.

Someone snarled from above, yanking him to his feet. "You blasted idiot!" He was shaking so bad, eyes so wet, he almost didn't recognize her. 

_Gwen._

She was soaked, her light hair plastered to her skin. Into his arms she thrusted Ludwig, dripping wet and shaking all the same. Gwen snapped something to her women, her eyes impossibly wide. He didn’t hear it, because he wasn’t listening. All Soren could hear was the slam of his heartbeat, the rasping of his breath, as his entire body _sang_ with her presence. 

_She's here, she's here, she's_ here.

A pair of massive, muscled arms scooped him up, and then he's held against her chest. _Her_ chest. Because Gwen was scowling above him her lips, already tinted blue as she hurries on. 

"Why do you weigh almost nothing?" She hissed. 

"You came back," he squeaked. She looked at him, eyes wild. 

Over her shoulder, someone said, "I can take him, Captain."

"I've got it," she snapped, and her grip on him tightened. Soren swallowed a sob, his fingers so, so cold. In his arms, Ludwig quivered, his white fur greyed and slick to his tiny body. 

He could feel her breath rasping against him, feel the cold of her tunic against his side. 

A sense of terror, dread, and regret spread through him. Tempered by bright, burning love. 

"Y-You saved me," he whispers, teeth chattering, "Y-You came b-back."

"Of _course_ , you fool," Gwen sniped, "Did you think I would just let you drown?" 

He didn’t reply. Didn’t want to tell her _I thought you were done with me._ Didn’t want to say _I thought I would never see you again_ Instead, it's all he can do to memorize every inch of her face. Every curve and crease and mark.

_She came back._ _She's here. She came back._

Gwen races them back to the palace, where they were met by horrified servants. Their fear, for the first time, made Soren realize he might be in danger. His bones felt leadened, his body wracked with shivers, his fingers numb and clammy. He shot Gwen a frightened look, and her expression softened. 

"You're fine," she said, even though she was shivering. "We're fine. You just got a little cold water shock. It's fine."

She brought them to his room, carefully divesting them of their wet clothes in favor of dry ones. He didn’t dare look at her bare body, even though he wanted to. Needed to. Not for pleasure, but to make sure she was alright. That she had no fresh scars. 

He didn’t. Instead, Soren dressed, and fluffed Ludwig dry with a towel. 

"When did you get back?" He asked Gwen, his voice small. 

She was gathering their clothes, tossing them into the basket for a servant to take. "Very shortly before you fell into the water. I sent word ahead to Her Majesty, I wanted to surprise you."

His face, still blistering cold, warmed with a blush. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what he was supposed to say. What he was allowed to say. 

When Ludwig was no longer shivering, Soren made himself turn to face her. Gwen was already staring. Her skin was still red with cold, her hair a mess. She looked... tired. 

"You saved me," he repeats, his voice even smaller. 

Gwen nodded. "Of course." 

"You came back." 

She frowned, tilting her head, "... Of course? Why wouldn't I?"

Soren looked down at his feet. "You were—You were gone for a long time." 

"Yes," Gwen hedged, uncertain, "One of my aunts was on her deathbed. I had to assist with the funeral, and there was some trouble regarding her will."

"I'm sorry," Soren whispered. 

"I didn't really know her," Gwen said. Her eyes are running him up and down, he could feel it. She was quiet for a moment. Two. Three. Then, softly, "... You weren't expecting me to return, were you?"

That feeling of dread returned, and he ducked his head. "I'm sorry."

"... Tell me why."

Slowly, Soren sat on his bed. "After the second week, I became worried you were hurt. After the third, I—I got scared." 

He glanced up at her, but now Gwen was just peering around the room. Soren pinked even further, suddenly aware of the disarray of his living quarters. The discarded clothes, books, sheets of music on the floor and uneaten food abandoned on one of the low tables. 

"I don't understand," Gwen said at length, "You wear my ring, and yet you still have no faith in me?"

Her words were cold, a jab right through his chest. "I'm sorry!" He barked, tears blurring his vision once more, "I'm so, so sorry. It was stupid, and dumb, and foolish, and I--"

"Is that why you look like such a mess?" Gwen cut in.

"A-A mess?" He croaked, his heart sinking. She winced. 

"I just meant…" She gestured to him, "You're pale, you've lost weight, you look like you haven't slept in years."

"I-I—" He couldn’t speak. He tried to imagine this from Gwen's perspective, and felt his shoulders curve further and further in. She lost her aunt, her family, and came back to him. To _this._ To his messy room and dishevelled hair. To his stupid, ugly face, and his stupid escapades getting him dumped in the stupid lake. She had to jump in after him, after his dog. Because he was _stupid_ and _worthless_ and—

"Hey, hey, it's alright."

With a start, Soren realized she's come to kneel in front of him, hands on his. He wiped his face found it went with tears. 

Gwen cupped his face in her hands, her expression worried and tight. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so mean," she whispered, "I'm sorry. You just—you're scaring me a bit, Sweetheart." 

"Scaring you?" He whispered, horrified. 

She brushed some of his tears away, even though they keep coming. 

"You've lost a lot of weight, Soren," she breathed, "You weighed just about nothing when I carried you, and you were soaking wet. You look—you look a bit sickly." 

He ducked his head, lip quivering. "I'm sorry," he whimpered, "I'm sorry, I-I just… I just missed you. I-I thought you were never coming back, and that no one wanted me, and I was going to be alone forever, and I—"

Gwen slid up alongside him, dragging him into his arms. That was all it took for the flood gates to open. Soren buried his face in her chest, and began to cry. 

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," whispered Gwen, "I should have wrote to you. I was just so busy—"

"No, no," he mewled, "I was just being stupid. I should have known better, you always come back."

"You keep talking about yourself like that, and you're going to earn yourself a spanking." 

His mouth snapped shut, even as his lips curled into a feeble grin. Saints, _yes._ He needed that, needed to be brought back in line. This was why men needed wives. To look after them, keep them in proper order. Without them, the world would fall apart.

Even if he hated disappointing her, he _loved_ it when she spanked him. Discipline in general, actually. But there was something about being spanked, about the warm and fuzzy pain, that just made his body turn to jello and his mind to mush. Of course, he would never tell Gwen this. He knew better than to act out for attention. That usually brought on the cane, which he definitely did _not_ love. The cane really hurt, leaving him weak and small. 

Gwen ran her hand through his hair, kissing his cheek. Her lips were warm, her fingers gentle. He wanted to stay here forever. 

A reminder that he was loved, cherished. A reminder that he was a fucking idiot for ever thinking Gwen would abandon him. 

Eventually, his tears petered off and Gwen withdrew enough to tilt his chin up. Her eyes were open, soft, as they looked him over. 

"I want you to clean up this room," she said softly, though the command was evident, "Get all the nonsense off the floor, put it back into working order."

"Yes, my Lady," he whispered, a shiver running through him. 

"Afterwards, we're going to deal with your mistreatment of my things." 

That gave him pause. Soren tilts his head, looking around the room for the object in question. Gwen takes him by the chin, turned his head back towards her, and looks at him with a quirked brow. 

"Oh," he squeaked, and burned bright red.

She kissed him again, this time on the lips. He took it, unmoving. Unassuming. Letting her take whatever it is she wanted from him. Whatever she asked, he would give to her. 

Always. 

Softly, Gwen asked, "Are you feeling alright?" 

"A lot better," Soren replied, "So— _so_ much better, Gwen."

She grinned, kissed him again. "Now get to it." Soren climbed to his feet and obeyed. 

He grew tired after just a few minutes. This amount of activity was far more than he had been doing in the last few weeks. It left him winded, made his hands start shaking again. Gwen just watched him as he fussed around the room, only speaking when Ludwig nipped at her hand. 

He sent the clothes and old food out with a servant, gathered up his music. His flute laid discarded on the table as well, so he made sure to spend a few moments cleaning it and set it in its case. It was one of the most precious things he owned, he really should be taking better care of it. 

A part of his mind had always considered the idea of fleeing from his mother. Or it had, up until Gwen had made her intentions clear. Living under her thumb was enjoyable, a lovely, secure feeling. Living under his mother made him want to curl into a ball and disappear. Always having to worry about what she thought of him was enough to drive any man insane. He'd always thought, hypothetically of course, that the flute might be something he could sell in his endeavor to get away. 

Now it seemed foolish. Especially since Gwen beamed like a thousand stars when he played her a new piece. 

Though that thought had brought up another.

As he was organizing his music sheets, he asked, "May I ask a couple questions, my Lady?"

He spoke formally because he's technically on punishment, but also because it made Gwen smirk. 

"By all means, Sweetheart."

"Where will we live, when we're married?" 

She hummed, "I don't know. Depends on whether or not I'm still Captain."

_The further away, the better._

He could stand to put plenty of distance between himself and his mother. Though he might miss his father, it would be worth it.

"Will I be allowed to manage the money or will I have an allowance?" He went on. 

"You can manage the money for household things, but you'll have an allowance for personal items."

Soren nodded. That's better than he was expecting, honestly.

The last question makes him feel a little bad. Enough so that he had to bite his lip before speaking. "Will you be taking a second husband?"

She was silent until he glanced up, finding her smirking still. "Probably not, Sweetheart. Why?"

_Because I want you all to myself._

"Just curious, my Lady," he murmured. Soren hoped she wouldn't, he was really bad at sharing. 

When the room was most back in order, he was beckoned to her side. He knelt between her feet, back straight, eyes closed. There was something infinitely right about being here, beneath her. Protected, secure, treasured. 

He was such a fool. 

Gwen carded her fingers through his hair, arranging it to her liking. Then her fingers trailed down his cheeks, and the warmth in his chest stutters as she caressed his cheek bones, the bags under his eyes. 

"I don't like it when people mess with my things," she said under his breath. 

Soren swallowed, "I'm sorry."

"Who said you were allowed to do this?" 

"N-No one," he whispered, "I'm sorry." 

Gwen clicked her tongue."I expect you to take better care of yourself in the future. Do you understand?" 

It felt wrong to speak, so Soren just nodded. Gwen looked him over, from head to toe. She grabbed his hands, pressed a kiss to each set of knuckles. It made him squirm, his heart fluttering. 

She tugged him up, across her lap. "Come, Sweetheart."

He went without complaint, pinning his arms beneath his body so he wouldn’t be compelled to try and stop her. His eyes slipped shut as she slid his pants down around his knees.

Her touch his light, gentle, as it skimmed across his backside, her hand pausing briefly to rub small circles into his hips. Her other hand had gone to his nape, toying with the loose hair there. Soren could only breathe. It's so much easier now that she's back, here, safe, with him. 

There was shame in his stomach. Shame and regret and sadness, at disappointing her. At making her look at him with those concerned, nervous eyes. He needed to be put back in his place. Needed that peace, that forgiveness, that she offers. 

"I'm going to give you forty, for not taking better care of yourself," murmured Gwen, "And then thirty for not keeping your faith in me."

Soren swallowed hard. He'd never taken seventy before, at least not at once. They usually only ever went to forty, she must have been very upset with him.

"Yes, my Lady," he whispered.

"Are you ready? Do you need anything before we start?"

He swallowed again, his heart already starting to race. "N-No, my Lady."

Above him, Gwen nodded, brushing his hair from his brow. "Alright," she said softly, "Take a deep breath, Sweetheart."

He did. And then another. On the third inhale, the blows began. 

At first, the pain was dull. Just a light aching, a meager pain. Warmth spread throughout his lower half, his mind falling quiet, his heartbeat slowing. The constant, mesmerizing _smack, smack, smack_ was as beautiful as music to his ears. Tears welled and blurred his eyes, but didn't fall. There was no fire in his blood, no arousal. Just his body taking what it needed, with no more protest than the occasional squeak. 

And then the pain began to shift. He didn't know what number they were on, but it was like every prior spank was making itself known. The heat grew to a burning pain, each blow stinging through him like a thousand white-hot needles. 

A spank hit him below his backside, where it met his thighs, and he jerked so hard Gwen grabbed him by the neck. 

"Just take it, Sweetheart," she cooed, never stopping, "You've got this. You can take It." 

After a few more strikes, he was gritting his teeth to the point of pain, answering each smack with a whimper. 

The blows pause for a moment, as Gwen shifts. "You're wearing me out, Sweetheart," she sighed.

"S-Sorry," he sniffled, tears dripping from his face. 

"Stop fighting it, okay?" she says, "Just let it all out."

"Y-Yes, my Lady…"

The blows began again, and Soren couldn't have held himself together had he wanted to. He started to sob, pressing his face into the bed. Each strike made him howl, made him buck and writhe. It's taking every ounce of his will not to fly off of her lap and hide. 

But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t._ This was his punishment, this was what he deserved. This was what he got for letting himself waste away. This was what he got for letting himself drown in his own fears, when he should have known Gwen would never abandon him.

The blows stop, and he's crying in earnest. Terrible, aching sobs. Gwen cooed, dragging him against her chest and lying back with her arms tight around him. 

"I've got you, I've got you," she whispered. Soren just cried harder, burying his face in her neck and holding on as tightly as he could. Gwen keeps making noises of comfort, her fingers tangled in his hair. 

"You're a good boy," she crooned in his ear, "My good boy. My lovely, handsome boy."

He didn’t stop shaking for nearly ten minutes. He’d stopped crying by then, even if his face was still a mess. 

"How do you feel?" she asked softly. 

"Hurts," he grumbled, "A lot."

Playfully, Gwen rolled her eyes and showed him her hands. They're both bright red. It shut down any further complaints. 

She leaned up to kiss him between the eyes, then once on the lips. After that, he couldn’t help but smile just a little bit. 

Poking him in the ribs, Gwen said, "No more of this, alright? I can't have you turning to dust on me."

Soren sucked in a deep breath, scrubbing at his face. "No—no more," he agreed, voice rough. 

He lied back against her, his breath still rasping in his chest. The burning in his backside was enough to keep most of his thoughts at bay. It throbbed, each pulse a fresh stinging wave. He didn’t really mind it anymore, knowing what it meant. 

Quietly, Soren said, "I love you."

Gwen smiled, kissed him once more. "I love you too, Princeling. Do me a favor and stop fretting so much, yes? We'll wed when the time is right."

"I know, I'm sorry," he whispered, "You just—you know how I get."

She nodded, brushing his hair out of his face. "I know. We'll work on it, okay?"

"Yes, my Lady," he murmured. He didn’t know what they could do about him being an idiot, but he trusted her enough to know that she meant it.

Chuckling softly, Gwen patted his backside hard enough to make him hiss. She snorted, dragged one of his pillows beneath her head. "I was looking forward to getting a nice nap in before I have to get back to work. Does that sound agreeable to you, Princeling?"

He nodded, going lax as her arms curled back around him. "Goodnight," he mumbles. 

Gwen snorted again, but said nothing. It was barely midday, but they both knew she wasn’t climbing out of this bed any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](https://tak138.tumblr.com/)


End file.
